


harder to hide than i thought

by StrangeHormones



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Choking, Creampie, Dry Humping, F/M, Female Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: bo sinclair x fem!reader| nobody gave me a choice. and at this point, i’m not sure i ever really wanted one.
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	harder to hide than i thought

You should be thinking about where your “friends” are and why the little town felt not quite right. You should especially be focused on the fact that you’re sleeping in a strangers house but he offered so nicely. It seemed wrong to deny such a kind offer after you had interrupted such a solemn day. He had even helped you look for the group that wasn’t exactly kind to you to start with and listened to you complain about how ditching you here would be just like them. That hadn’t sat well with Bo Sinclair it seemed and he had been quick to offer you a place to sleep with the bonus of a ride back down the road in the morning saying they’d probably be on their way back for you, if they had even left. You had dismissed that idea with their most recent prank which had been closer to a misdemeanor than anything funny. There was something about how angry he had gotten on your behalf, having a few choices words for people like that before walking the both of you back to the house.

”Thanks,” clearing your throat and trying again, “Thank you for the…” lifting the blanket in your arms, “I promise tomorrow I’ll be out of your hair.”

And the way he smiles at you, “Wouldn’t be right,” God, no man should be allowed to look that charming, “Leavin’ a pretty girl like you out there,” the way the two words rolled of his tongue sent a shiver up your spine, “You sure you don’t want the bed?” whether you like it or not you’re smitten

You shook your head, “You’ve already been so great,” hoping you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt, “I’d feel like I’m taking advantage of you or something.”

He shook his head, “Never could,” glancing up the stairs and back at you, “Can I at least give ya something to wear? My momma would kill me if she knew I let a lady sleep on the couch let alone wearin’ jeans.”

You should say no, “Yeah, sure,” Just make up the sofa, get a couple hours of sleep, and then try to find people who probably left you here, “You’re gonna start to make you feel guilty.”

He chuckled, “How about you make breakfast? Seem like a girl who cooks a mean breakfast.”

“I think I could manage that,” you said, it was the least you could do after all.

The ways his eyes twitch over you before he turns back up the stairs make you wonder if maybe you hadn’t played it as calmly as you believe you had. Though, if he wanted something from you he more than could have taken it by now. You sighed, shaking your head and turning towards the couch. He was being kind, that good ol’ southern charm, by this time tomorrow you’d just be a stranger he helped out and nothing more. You don’t like the pit that appears in your stomach at the thought because you want to be more. Moving the throw pillows around before you shook the folds out of the blanket and began to spread it over the upholstery. You want him to think about you, to miss you, to think it was a mistake ever driving you out of this oddly wonderful Twilight Zone. It just seems far too strange for you to just happen to be ditched in the smallest of towns and you walk straight into the path of a handsome stranger. There’s no opportunity to chide yourself for thinking something so ridiculous when he clears his throat behind you.

You spun, the smile still on your face, “It ain’t much,” now that you think of it you’d been smiling most of your time with the man, “But it’s comfortable,” holding a wad of clothing out towards you.

You can’t pretend brushing your fingers across his isn’t a little bit purposeful, the jolt it sends through you shouldn’t be a surprise given your thoughts, “It’s great. Really great,” but it knocks you off balance all the same, “Thank you, really. I, uh,” you rubbed the back of your neck with your free hand, “I can’t remember the last time anyone was this nice to me.”

It’s the same dark look from when you told your story, when you joked about being nobody, when you said no one would probably notice if they showed up without you, “Well, guess I’ll do my best with the time I got,” that grin slipping back onto his face as if it had never left, “Bathroom’s just down there,” pointing around the corner and down the hall, “Want a drink?”

“That’d be nice, yeah,” you pushed out before making your way towards the bathroom.

The door didn’t really close and the lock was broken but the only other company you could currently hear moving about the kitchen. You unfurled the crumpled mess he had handed you; a mostly clean over-sized t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Smiling you couldn’t help your snort of laughter, at least something was predictable. You stripped quickly and pulled on the clothes, folding your panties and bra into your shirt and then jeans before tucking them on a shelf behind the door. You’d just have to change back in the morning and you didn’t relish trying to find your clothes bleary-eyed in the morning. You looked at your shoes with consideration, deciding to leave them on the floor beneath the same shelf.

Your sock-clad feet were almost silent on the floor, allowing you to observe him through the doorway without being noticed. He was still wearing his “monkey suit” as he called it, sans jacket. His collar had been unbuttoned and he’d rolled up his sleeves, holding what was clearly an expensive bottle of booze in his hand with careful consideration before filling both the chipped glasses halfway. It was your turn, clearing your throat as you stepped into the room.

“I figured I’d just leave my stuff in the bathroom? I’m already so in your way-”

“You have got to stop that,” he laughed, handing you what could only be whiskey with a smile, “If I didn’t wanna help ya, I wouldn’t be.”

“Like I said, been a long time since someone was nice to me,” thankful for the burn of alcohol in your throat.

“See that,” he leaned against the kitchen sink, one hand on the ledge while the other brought his glass to his lips. “That don’t sit right with me,” taking a gulp that drained half the glass it seemed.

“It’s not so bad. Could’ve ended up worse places,” taking your own large gulp followed by a smaller one to drain the glass and setting it down on the counter with a thud while you wiped your lips with the back of your wrist, “With worse people.”

“Careful. I just might keep ya here,” and while you both laughed, it didn’t sound quite like he was joking.

You hummed low in your throat with a shrug, “I should probably crash out.”

“Yeah, me too,” finishing his own drink with a hiss, “Sleep well, pretty girl.”

“You, uh, you too,” turning quickly on your feet and hurrying back to the makeshift bed.

You climbed under the blankets as he darkened the rest of the house before making his way up the stairs. You could feel the alcohol hitting your brain, the sudden realization that you hadn’t eaten since last night a fuzzy thought against the pleasant heat coursing through your body and the masculine scent that surrounded you on all sides. Metal, motor oil, a spicy cologne, and a natural smell that could never be replicated. Something that was unmistakably Bo.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the smell of him taking over your brain, but you found yourself darting your eyes around the empty living room as you pushed the blanket down slowly. It had been so long since the thought of anyone had ignited that pulsing heat between your legs. You shouldn’t, you know that but you just can’t bring yourself to let any of these sensations go. I just might keep ya here. Even before the whiskey, it wouldn’t have sounded so bad but now it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. Your thighs rubbed together, desperate for friction as you thumbed a nipple through the shirt, keeping your other hand firmly over your mouth, just in case. You didn’t have a whole lot of time, your movements quickly roping the blanket between your legs, pressing tightly against you through the thin boxers.

The idea that the same soft fabric that was now so close to sliding between your lips had been pressed against his cock destroys the last of your reservations. You are nothing but exposed nerve endings and instinct. A quick tug pulls everything flush against you and you’re rocking your hips before there’s any chance to do otherwise. Rolling onto your stomach is instinct, angling your hips and gripping the arm of the couch. All you can hear is rustling fabric. You keep your eyes trained on the door and the corner of a pillow clamped firmly between your teeth. But it’s hard to focus when you’re imagining how much warmer he would feel against you. Fingers digging into you, his thigh pressed tight against, looking up at you with no ability to keep his mouth shut.

You groan, you should be even more diligent. But the whiskey has settled, the friction against your clit is amazing, and all you want to think about his him. Your mind focusing on the way he called you a pretty girl and all the other things he would say to you. The friction is amazing but it’s not enough. It’s been so long, it’s not enough. Promising yourself you’d be quiet you released the scratchy fabric in favor of biting your lip and turning your head to press your shoulder against your nose, trying to take in even more of him as if somehow that would bring you closer. It only seems to push you farther away, you’ve never felt so desperate before. You whine, frustration, or pure need, you don’t know. Just that every second your orgasm seems to be slipping farther and farther away, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop until you finally managed to reach it.

“Havin’ a hard time there, pretty girl?” his accent is thick, twisting around the words just right.

He’d known, the whole time, and he knows what he’s doing right now. Leaning against the door frame in nothing but a pair of sweats and looking at you like you’d just crawled out of his fantasies. It’s exactly how you’re looking at him. You’ve never growled but it feels natural, there’s something primal about this moment, you feel like something different.

“I need you to touch me,” you gasp, falling into the blissful loss of control with a theatrical arch of your back, “It’s all I’ve been thinking since I saw you.”

It’s apparently the right thing to say. With a blink he’s beside the couch, ripping the blanket from between your thighs and replacing it with his hand as he crouched. You tangle your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, your lips meet with a clank of teeth and split lips. Whether you pull him closer or he crawls over you, you can’t be sure. All you know is you’re on your back with him trying to suck your soul out and a hard thigh pressed right where you needed him most.

You don’t have the chance to be embarrassed, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he rips your orgasm from you faster than you ever, “Just like that, sweetheart,” a quick rise and hard fall that fills you with a desperation you’ve never felt before, “Tell me what you want. All you gotta do,” tugging hard on your bottom lip and releasing it with a wet smack.

“Fuck me,” you’ve never even thought the words before, “Please,” now they’re the only words that make sense.

“I fuck you,” his t-shirt disappearing from your body with another blink, “I keep you,” your fingers scrabbling desperately across his skin when his teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder.

“I’m starting to think that’s the point,” his fingers digging into your hips, you need him, “Fuck me, keep me,” more than air, “Just make me feel good.”

With one hard thrust he’s stretched to your limit, you’re desperate for more, “So fuckin’ tight,” he doesn’t waste any time granting your unspoken wish.

Nails split skin as he pounds into you, all sense of self is gone, you’re just a bundle of excited nerves. You scream and moan, begging him for more, “Harder,” desperate for him to shatter you into a million pieces, “You hurt so fucking good.”

“You got no idea,” pulling you up and twisting till you were in his lap, hitting places inside you at this angle you never knew existed, “Show me how bad you want it, pretty girl.”

You don’t this part of yourself, you like it, undulating against rather than riding him at a gallop. Your walls clenching around him, your clit pressing hard against his pelvis, and he’s looking up at you like he hasn’t seen anything like you. It’s impossible to catch your breath, his hand in the small of your back keep you upright as your eyes begin to roll and ripping into the skin of his chest. His fingers trace between the valley of your breast until they can wrap around your throat.

“Do it,” he might as well, if you’re going to slip away from this Earth, this is the moment, “Fucking do it.”

He does with that grin, except there’s no mask to obscure what he really wants from you. It’s dark as he grips tighter and you feel yourself flying higher than you’ve ever been. He’s thrusting up towards you, pulling you down harder and harder the tighter your cunt clenches around him. Where you once were able to gasp and scream, you breath disappears. Maybe it’s the fact late hour or the lack of air but everything starts to darken at the edges.

“What if I told I killed those fuckers?” his voice low, harsh, meant to scare, “Would you stay?” you try to push the words out, no matter how futile you know it is, “You still gonna be my pretty girl?”

He let’s go, your lungs burn, “Yes,” he rips you apart piece by piece, falling forward against him, “Yours,” desperately gasping as he tugs your head back, holding your hanging jaw tightly.

“Who’s?” driving up into you, forcing you farther than you’d ever been, “Say my name, sweetheart, say it.”

You never want him to stop but you need him to, every moment pushing over a new ledge, “Bo!” your legs twitching, your body impossibly heavy, “Jesus Fuck, Bo!” you sobbed, euphoric.

He held you tight to him, as if he could absorb you, “So good for me,” grinding erratically against you, his lips and teeth glide against your skin, “Knew I picked you for a reason,” his words should scare you but all you know is how desperately he had needed you like this too, “Where you been my whole life?” enough to kill, to destroy.

“Cum for me,” you don’t know how you manage the words- they barely qualify as that, “I need your cum, Bo, please,” just desperate half whispers punctuated with whines.

He crushes his lips against yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth as his cock twitched inside you. Each movement, each spurt, is electric against your swollen cunt and forces desperate moans from you. He groans, your tighten walls against his over-sensitized flesh is perfectly too much. It’s desperate hands against sweat-slicked skin as you writhe against each other. Floating carefully as you both panted heavily, both unable and unwilling to move.

You swallow hard, running the tip of your finger along his jaw, “You really do that?”

“I heard ‘em, way they thought they could talk to you,” running the tips of his fingers along your spine, smirking at the giggle it drew from your throat, “Didn’t sit right with me.”

“Well,” you sighed, “All my underwear is in that car.”

“It’s cute you think you’re gonna need those.”


End file.
